Ramblings
by jazzyproz
Summary: A One Shot, possibly a series of One Shots, of rambling thoughts from our favorite characters. Currently rated T for language & adult situations. If this develops into later chapters, the rating may change.
1. Amazing

******A/N**

******Hello! **

******I have had a bit of trouble with my muse of late. For various reasons, my creativity has been lacking and I've had trouble pulling myself from the slump. **

******I found a handful of old, roughly sketched One Shots that had been living dormant in a forgotten folder on my computer. This is one of them. In order to jump start the writer-in-me, who has unfortunately chosen to go into a comatose state for an undetermined amount of time, I decided to blow the dust off, clean it up a bit and put it out there for your enjoyment, or criticism, whichever the case may be. **

******I never have, and still don't, claim any success in writing from a first person POV. I don't fool myself into thinking I have a knack for getting inside any of our favorite characters' heads and minds. But that doesn't necessarily stop me from dabbling within that framework. I think you'll figure out when this takes place, it's pretty damn explanatory. **

******I think by now everyone knows I don't own Bones or its characters… If I did, B&B would have *a lot* more affection for each other on screen rather than only in our little FF world. **

**Ramblings**

**_Amazing_**

My partner is _amazing_.

Amazing in every sense of the word. She is the best Forensic Anthropologist in the world, a NY Times best-selling author several times over; an inspiration to all who take the time to know her. Temperance Brennan is a genius unaware of the powerful spell she holds over those who look up to her and blissfully ignorant to the adoring looks that her students, both male and female, shoot her way when they think no one else is watching.

But I'm watching. I am _always_ watching.

My partner is as beautiful as she is brilliant. _Why wouldn't I watch_? I've been watching her for years. Watching and learning, watching and cataloguing, watching and protecting. She says she doesn't need protecting… Like _hell _she doesn't… I've never met anyone who finds herself in as much trouble as my Bones. I believe her when she says that she doesn't do it on purpose - I just think she acts on impulse and that doesn't bode well in the game of avoiding trouble.

When Bones and I first met, I was disgruntled by her nonchalant way of dismissing my knowledge and opinions, not to mention her blunt manner of always pointing out when she was right and I was wrong. And _man alive_, did she hate to concede on the occasions that I was right… She would usually gloss over the outcome, ignoring my taunts about her being wrong, and she'd point out something, _anything_, that would still prove her to be superior. That's OK, though, I learned to recognize her little qualms and quickly fell in love with her many idiosyncrasies. I learned to appreciate the quiet contemplation that surrounded her whenever she would mentally process something that I had said or done that turned out to be helpful. And I carefully avoided pointing these times out to her. I let her process in her own way, on her own timeline. I could always tell when she succumbed to my way of thinking or when she would finally agree with me - it was always in her eyes. _Those crystal-like, bottomless, hypnotic, emotional eyes..._

Bones is a woman of many, many emotional layers.

When people learn of her 3-year stint as a ward of the State, they often brush off the long-lasting effects it left behind. I've heard comments made that she _'should be over that by now_,' or cruel remarks that she uses that time _'as a crutch'_ on which to blame her own inadequacies and fears. When I hear shit like that, I can feel my blood boil… I wanna grab that person and repeatedly pound their head into the nearest wall until they fall from my fist, a limp pile of flesh and bones on the floor at my feet, and nothing more... And then, when they complain about a headache the next day, I'd tell them they should be over it by now and to stop using it as an excuse not to work. _Fuckers_.

Bones kept her history quiet for a long time. I knew most of it, because I read her file prior to asking for her help. But I never let on that I knew. Even when Angela was telling me about Bones' past, I let the artist talk as if it was the first time I'd heard the story. I find that when I let people talk freely, rather than interrupt them with what I already know, I learn a shitload more. I learn about the things that a report _can't_ tell, I learn about the emotion, about the _person_. In Bones' case, I learned about the mistrust she held for pretty much everyone. I learned that, despite the fact that her file indicated she had excelled scholastically as a ward of the State, she had done so _only _out of necessity. If she hadn't focused on her school work, she wouldn't have been granted scholarships, thus losing her chances of getting into the universities that she so desperately wanted to attend. Those scholarships and grants helped make her into the person I'm now watching over. Her experiences at the universities, both good and bad, formed the driven, selfless woman that I now love.

People scoff when they hear me refer to Bones as _selfless… _

Those who don't know her think she is egotistical and arrogant, cold and distant...and they equate those traits to selfish and unyielding. I'm almost ashamed to say that I, too, once thought she was simply full of herself… But then she proved me wrong. She took that test I gave her, dismantled it and threw it right back in my face, along with a helluva right hook. She attacked the case we were investigating with tireless enthusiasm and a vigor that I hadn't witnessed in any of my FBI colleagues. She sought only the truth and justice for our victim, disregarding her own needs of sleep and sustenance in the process. She wanted to give a voice to those who could no longer speak, those poor souls who could no longer tell their own stories. _That_ was when I learned just how selfless Temperance Brennan could be.

That was also when I appointed myself her personal watchdog. I made sure she ate. _Hell_, I even let her steal my beloved diner fries, _and anyone who knows me, knows I love my diner fries…_Though I must admit, the first time she reached across the table to snag the crispy, golden piece of deep fried goodness, I was shocked. She was always preaching healthy foods, telling me shit like I was setting myself up to die young and that my penis was gonna shrivel up and fall off if I didn't eat better… And yet there she was, stealing my fries and stuffing them into her mouth, _that perfectly delectable mouth_, in between bites of her garden salad, _lite Italian dressing on the side, please…. _I can't help but shake my head and smile...

I also made sure she went home at night. I was shocked to learn that her co-workers didn't find it unusual that she would often sleep at the lab. It seemed whenever she became engrossed in research, regardless of whether it was an active case or a 200-year-old skeleton, she worked through her exhaustion, taking naps on her office couch only when absolutely necessary. Apparently Angela had given up trying to get Bones to go home on most nights. But I'll be damned if I was gonna let my partner work herself into an exhausted stupor. Nope… I would come by the lab, long after all the other offices were dark, and I would drag her out of here, making promises _that I had no intention of keeping _that I'd leave her alone the following evening. And she let me. Sure, she complained and resisted, but in the end, we shared most of our dinners together.

The more time we spent together, getting to know each other, the more I realized what a warm and loving, not to mention grossly misunderstood, woman Bones is. We became much more than partners, more than friends, even. I shared my history with her. I told her things that I've never told another living soul. I've opened up and admitted my past to her in ways that I'd never done, said things aloud that I'd only re-lived in my tormented memories and nightmares.

And I know she confided in me about things that were so painful for her to remember, that there is no way in hell she would have told anyone else. Bones let me see her fears, her insecurities. She's let me thumb away countless tears as they streamed down her flawless skin. She eventually even let me give her hugs, as long as I qualified them as 'guy-hugs'. But c'mon, now, everybody knows that I ain't huggin' any guys unless its Pops, Parker or Jared… _What the hell is a 'guy-hug' anyway? _She confessed how painful it is for her to hear that she's considered 'cold'… I can still remember the embarrassed look that distorted her beautiful features when she told me about the first person who told her she was unlovable because she was nothing but 'a cold fish.' I held her for a long time that evening. Right there on her living room couch, she folded herself into an unbelievably tiny ball of Bones and let me envelop her in a cocoon of Boothy-safety. The more times she let me wrap my arms around her, the harder I started to fall. It wasn't long before I realized it was hopeless to fight it. But I knew that she would never feel the same way about me as I felt about her. So, I tamped down those desires and resolved myself to an existence of perpetual-hard-ons whenever we were together.

Over the course of our partnership and friendship, we've both ventured off the path to take care of those 'biological urges' as she likes to phrase it. I've done my share of preaching to her when she gets all squinty and anthropological about monogamous relationships, but I have to admit, there was only so much I could take care of on my own. So, I'm not proud of my relationship indiscretions. _And_ while I hate to even think about my Bones with another man, I understand.

And now I watch her, down there on the platform, giving hell to a junior-intern for fucking up some mass-spec-test with excessive electromagnetic properties, _or whatever the hell kinda shit these kids around here do_, and I feel an unexplainable swell in my chest.

She's mine. I'm hers. Completely.

No one else knows yet. It's been three weeks since she came to me for comfort in the dark moments before dawn. Three weeks ago tonight was one of the hardest nights of our lives; we lost Vincent earlier that day. But it was also, without a doubt, one of the most important nights of our lives… In those quiet moments as I held her in my arms, stroked her hair back from her forehead and pressed a kiss to her warm, flushed skin, I told her what I needed her to know. It had been too close of a call in the lab… Had I handed the phone to Bones instead of to Vincent, I would have lost her that day. And that would have shattered my world into a million little irreparable pieces.

"_I love you, Bones. You don't have to respond, you don't have to love me back, but I need you to know, above all else, that I love you and I have for a long time."_

She raised her tear-streaked face from my shoulder and pinned me with a piercing look. Her eyes were wide, she was searching for any indication of ulterior motives; she was _studying_ me. I was about to reassure her that she didn't need to respond, that I didn't expect anything in return. But she surprised me by stretching up and pressing a gentle but firm kiss to my mouth.

"_I love you, too, Booth." _She whispered against my lips. She shocked me. I never, not in a million years, expected her to respond like that. "_That bullet...was meant for you… I don't want... **I can't** lose you." _She choked on her words, tried in vain to swallow her tears.

I palmed her face, traced my calloused thumb along her cheekbone, wiping away the salty streaks marring the perfect canvas of skin. I remember apologizing for my rough hands. She simply snuggled into me, lowering and pressing her forehead against the side of my neck. I knew she was exhausted, weary. It was obvious she hadn't slept while she was out on the couch and the mere action of admitting her feelings aloud, I know, took a lot of courage for her, adding to her stress-induced fatigue.

"_Let's sleep, Bones." _I threaded my fingers through her hair, feeling her nod and exhale in a soft sigh. The sensation of her warm breath ghosting across my Adams Apple made me shiver and I rolled slightly, so she could still rest on my shoulder, but I was angled enough to look down at her.

It felt so perfectly natural to lay with her in my arms like that… It didn't feel new or uncomfortable, it didn't feel like undiscovered territory. As she drifted off into a much-needed slumber and her weight increased against my body, the one thing that sticks out in my mind above all else about holding her for those few hours was the feeling of completion. My partner was the one person in the world who could make me feel whole. Here I was - an average guy who had a rough start to life but caught a couple o' lucky breaks along the way and ended up in the FBI, partnering with one of the smartest people on the planet. Temperance Brennan was my confirmation. Confirmation that I had done _something_ right at some point in my past...Confirmation that I made the right choice in career. And her presence in my arms, in my bed that night, was the confirmation that we were both finally on the same page.

I knew sleep wouldn't come for me again on that night, but I was beyond satisfied to simply lie there with my partner while she slept. Bones had been on an emotional roller coaster that would've been hell for anyone, but for my emotionally-stunted and sensitive best friend, it was especially hard. I coaxed her to out of nightmares and back into peaceful rest more than once during those dark, early hours and my heart nearly exploded when, in the fog between awake and asleep, when her guard was down and the filter that often stopped her from saying things was non-existent, she mumbled my name, fisted my t-shirt and told me again that she loved me. The fact that she offered the sentiment without my prompting solidified the feeling and I had to catch my breath as I fell harder than I ever imagined possible.

The following morning, there was no awkwardness, no hesitant approaches. Bones let me hold her while I leaned against the counter and we waited for the coffee to brew. And she reached for my hand when we were walking down the stairwell to the truck. When we pulled into the parking garage at the Jeffersonian, she didn't want me to walk her upstairs, insisting that she would be fine. I knew what she was doing, though. She was trying to distance herself temporarily, trying to compartmentalize. But before she slipped from her seat, Bones leaned across the console and pressed her lips to mine, threatening to kick my ass if I didn't come back safe that night.

I knew I had to keep my head in the game, the game of catching Broadsky, but my thoughts were swimming with visions of Bones.

A warm and sleepy Bones wrapped around me. A trusting and vulnerable Bones looking to me for guidance and understanding. A desperate and passionate Bones as she kissed me there in the truck and waved goodbye as she crossed the blacktop. I watched until she entered the staff elevator and waited until the security guard signaled to me that she had arrived upstairs safely.

When we finally saw each other that night, as the group of us bid Vincent a fond and final farewell, it was all I could do to not wrap her up safely and carry her off over my shoulder, locking her away from danger forever. But we managed to wait until we reached her apartment. There was never any question about whose place we were going to once Bones declined Angela's invitation to go out for drinks at Founding Fathers. We were barely inside the apartment when she turned to me and flung her arms around my shoulders, sobbing against my neck and clawing at my trench coat. She was spilling tears of sadness and regret for Vincent, but I knew she was also crying in relief that the day was over, and Broadsky was in custody.

"_Shhh… It's OK, Bones. C'mon, let's sit, Baby_." I whispered against her loose hair, the moniker slipping out without conscious thought, though she didn't argue. We sat for several long, quiet moments, swaying and touching gently, stealing kisses.

I'm not even sure who started it, who made the first real move, so-to-speak, but before long, all the angst and fears of the day, along with the years of tension that had built-up between us was shattered as the metaphorical dam broke. At some point, _how the hell we managed it I'll never know_, we ended up back in her bedroom, clothes had been shed along the way and finally, _finally(!)_, I was running my hands over her soft curves and silky skin. It should be illegal to have skin as soft as hers. Her strong, wiry fingers mapped my shoulders and chest, my jawline and along my back, she was cataloguing my skeletal structure, and I was fine with that… I wanted her to touch me; I wanted her to _know _me.

I cupped her face, that gently square, smooth jaw of hers, and tilted her head up until she was looking into my eyes. For a moment I think I forgot how to breathe, her blues were so wide and clear and honest. "_I love you, Bones. And I promise to love you until my dying day_."

"_I know, Booth_," she replied and she pulled my head to hers, slanting her mouth beneath mine.

We made love that night. We broke the laws of physics several times over. We took turns taking the lead and giving in. It was unlike any other experience I've ever had, and I dare say it was the same for her. Tomorrow it will be three weeks since we made love for the first time, but today it's three weeks since I knew for sure that we would be together, since I knew the one person who had the capabilities to enrich my world or shatter me, also loved me in return. And there's no other feeling in the world like this.

And as I sit up here in the lounge, my feet dangling over the edge while I watch my partner at work, I know that there will never, _ever_ be another woman for me. I know she feels me watching her, because she always knows. And like always, she'll give me hell for it.

My partner is Amazing… yes, with a capital A. And she's _mine_, in every sense of the word.

******Postscript A/N**

******It's no secret that I love that time period when B&B were still finding their ways back to each other, post-Hannah. I know this is a little beyond that, even, but I don't always have control over what gets written. I just type the words as they flow through me. **

******The other random One Shots hidden away in my folder of madness may or may not end up here, under the ********Ramblings ********story heading, not sure yet. Any and all errors are mine; I asked no one to edit me, so I own them - blame me. **

******If you're following DPO, you'll see that I've noted "temp hiatus" on the summary. I still haven't given up complete hope on that tale, but my muse isn't cranking out the story that was initially meant to be told. For those of you who've patiently waited and left me messages, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. And if you have added it to your watch list, you will get a message when I update it again. :) Tusker left us a couple of weeks ago, and we sure miss him… It's been a rough past couple of months. **

******peace & love, my friends**

******~jazzy **


	2. Jaguar

******A/N Thank you all for your kind response to "Ramblings". **

******This is another long-forgotten little diddy I had sketched out and it sat sitting in that same abandoned folder for I-don't-know-how-long. I thought it would categorically fit within the realm of this collection of unrelated One Shot ****__****Ramblings********. I hope you don't mind. **

******There is no distinct time-frame for this one, but it's prior to B&B getting together. **

******Disclaimer: really? Do I need to do this every time? I own nothing….**

**"****Jaguar" **

I don't know who they think they're foolin'. I mean, _hell_, look at 'em...

Like a snarling wolf, Booth all but chases off any other man who gets close to Dr. Brennan, positioning himself as the alpha, regardless of who his potential opponent might be. He's been doing it for years and quite shockingly, she's been letting him. The independent, self-sufficient and unabashedly pretentious scientist had, over the past several years, yielded unquestioningly to her partner.

OK, well, maybe _unquestionably _is the wrong word. Brennan doesn't typically question Booth in front of whoever he's intimidating. Instead, she bites her tongue, waiting before launching an all-out-war on her partner as soon as they're alone...or when they _think _they're alone. With the stealth and patience of a hungry jaguar stalking her prey, the good doctor waits until an Unsuspecting-Booth, thinking he is safely through the jungle, pushes into her personal territory a little too far. And _that _is when she pounces. She rapid-fires vocabulary that I'm certain she specifically pre-selects for just such an occasion as bringing down her considerably-larger victim while he's reeling dizzily from her strung-together-run-on-sentences.

The commonly accepted meaning behind the name '_jaguar' _is "he who kills with one blow." The mythological and legendary spirit of the jaguar is so disturbingly similar to Dr. Brennan's temperament that when my wife and I were in Mexico a few years back, and we attended a show about the historical significance of ancient Mayan symbols, as soon as they introduced the jaguar, Julia and I turned to one another in unison and mouthed _Dr. Brennan,_followed by our own snickers and chuckles. We simply couldn't resist making the comparison. It was, of course, all done in good fun, but nevertheless, we both knew the anthropologist was much like the predatory cat, particularly when it came to her partner.

"What are you grinning at, Sam?" Julia leans close and whispers into my ear.

I turn my head and admire the way her gray-highlighted hair shines under the muted glow of the crystal chandeliers. My wife of 29 years is still as beautiful as the day we were married, and I can't help but smile at the sparkle in her eyes. She's had a glass or two too many of the sweet wine provided by our very attentive waiter, and her face is alight with a playful glow.

I lean over and press a soft kiss to the rosy apple of her cheek. "I was just watching Booth scare off one of the Jeffersonian's prime benefactors. Apparently the man wanted a word with Dr. Brennan and our good agent didn't approve of the interaction." I chuckle as Julia's eyes skip across the room and settle on the partners. I continue the narration with a smile. "Now, she's gonna reprimand him for his bullishness… Just watch..."

Julia watches as Dr. Brennan jabs a pointy finger into Booth's chest and presses into his personal space, clenching her jaw and pushing up on her tiptoes to make herself appear larger. Her chin is jutting out and the hand that isn't repeatedly pounding into the tiny pleats of his tuxedo shirt is fisted at her side.

Julia leans slightly back towards me and whispers while still watching the heated interaction. "So, have they… _you know_...?"

I shrug and raise an eyebrow. "They still maintain that they are nothing more than partners. But I'll tell ya, Jules, I've lost count of the number of agents who've filed complaints against Booth for becoming a little too impassioned at defending his partner around the watercooler." I can't stop the smirk that forms when I think about the repeated actions of my favorite agent. "Of course, I take every complaint seriously...I end up calling Booth to my office on an almost weekly basis, and he knows the reason for the summons the minute he walks in… Always has his defense ready."

"I hope you're not too hard on him, Sammy," my wife admonishes me. Julia has a 'thing' for Booth, much like most women who cross his path. And that's OK with me, I know she is faithful and simply enjoys the view and the occasional flirt with the much younger agent. "He seems like an honorable man, and he's only defending his partner, he shouldn't be punished." Her hazel eyes pin me with seriousness.

"Nah," I sit back in my seat, throwing my arm across the back of her chair. "I usually end up calling the agent who filed the complaint, so I can reprimand him or her, _it'susually a __him_, for inappropriate behavior." I move my eyes back to the partners and note that Booth is now doing the talking. He has gained control of the pointy little finger from where it was pushing into his chest and holds it firmly as he meets the fiery blue eyes with rebutting words of his own. We can't hear what is being said, but I can imagine how the conversation is playing out.

Brennan is surely pissed off at Booth for his overbearing, over-protective nature and is in all likelihood reiterating her stance that she can take care of herself. It's a Brennan-Lecture to which I've often been witness. And now, Booth is invading her personal space, their noses almost touching as he spits words back at her. I know that Booth will most likely talk his way out of her wrath, but only temporarily. He'll spin her words into a tapestry of logic that works against her own, which will serve to confuse her for the moment, taming the wild cat until she's had a chance to re-think her argument. It's _after _that, after she's had a chance to better prepare a debate supporting her point of view, that Booth has to watch out... That is when Brennan-the-Jaguar will emerge, eyes blazing, claws extended and teeth bared. I never really know how Booth escapes relatively unscathed from these sessions, but somehow my top agent soothes the beast in his partner and the two of them come out smelling like roses.

Julia leans over and, without removing his eyes from the interaction across the ballroom, speaks to me. I can hear the humor peeking through her voice. "She looks like she's caving…"

"Yeah, that's typical. They'll be fine for the awards ceremony. They'll work through their difference of opinions after the evening wraps up, but before they go their separate ways for the night."

We continue to watch as Booth and Brennan move towards their table, oblivious to the many observations of their quiet, _but not-so-silent_interaction. It's apparent to anyone with an ounce of intelligence that the pair belongs together, they belong _to each other_… He steers her with ease, his open palm at the small of her back, and she acquiesces to his directional pressure, allowing him to escort her to where he wants. Their timing is impeccable, because as soon as they reach their assigned seats, the announcement is made that the ceremony is about to begin.

It is a fairly quick and painless evening. Booth and Brennan, along with the staff and select interns of the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab, are awarded for their exceedingly successful solve rate. Specific FBI Agents who'd partaken in especially difficult cases are recognized. Speeches are made, certificates and plaques presented, and the plans are revealed for the renewal of another two-year contract between the FBI and the Jeffersonian Institute.

At the close of the ceremony, the emcee invites everyone to enjoy the music of the band, opening the dancefloor to anyone who cares to take part. Julia and I watch for a while, sipping our wine and chatting with our table-mates. As if it's beyond our control, our gazes eventually turn to the dancing couples who've filled the floor. It isn't a surprise to either of us that my best employee leads his partner to a shadowed, less crowded corner of the room. They dance with ease, talking and laughing, moving across their claimed portion of polished floor with more grace than many professionals. Booth's hand spans across the small of Brennan's back protectively and possessively as he holds her other hand against his chest, folded almost between their bodies. Brennan's arm is stretches around his expansive shoulder and settles just below the nape of his neck, her fingers occasionally reaching up to trace the short hairs above his collar. Her head, after several stances of the song, slowly lowers until it is resting against her partner, her cheek anchored to his tux-covered clavicle.

"Would you like to dance, Julia?" I grin knowingly at the wistful smile my wife wears, and I nod towards the crowd of people growing thicker.

"Yes, I would."

We join the gathering of other ceremony attendees and enjoy the music of the live band. Unintentionally, as I spin Julia in my arms, my shoulder bumps into the brick-wall-like form that turns out to be Seeley Booth. When I turn to apologize, still unaware of with whom I've collided, I am met with a darkened glare that immediately softens upon recognition.

"Oh, sorry about that, Sir," he takes the blame, though I know it was my own overzealous twirl that caused the bump. Booth's eyes move to my wife and his smile spreads wide, "Hello, Mrs. Cullen, you're looking lovely tonight."

My Jules flushes at the compliment and I am reminded, once again, that even my wife is not immune to the infinite charms of Special Agent Seeley J. Booth.

"Thank you, Agent Booth," she replies quietly. "Good evening, Dr. Brennan."

The ladies smile at each other in greeting and I notice as Booth, seemingly involuntarily, tightens his arm around his partner, his movement almost indiscernible. Brennan's eyes swivel to me and she nods politely. "Good evening, Sir."

On impulse, perhaps to test Booth's reaction, perhaps just to play a little with my best team, I move my gaze between the partners before settling back on Brennan. "May we have the pleasure of cutting in?"

Brennan's brow wrinkles. "I don't know what that means," she immediately looks up to Booth for clarification.

With the patient understanding that I've seen countless times, Booth looks down adoringly at his partner. "It means he would like to dance with you, Bones."

"Oh," her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Do you mind, Booth?"

"Not at all. Just save the rest of the dances for me… huh?" His eyes skip across her face, taking in her reaction to his barely disguised possessiveness.

She agrees without a second thought, looking at me with a genuine smile. "Yes, Director. I accept your invitation." She lowers her arm from Booth's shoulder, almost reluctantly I realize, and turns to face me, waiting to let go of his hand until the last moment.

By now, the band has begun a new song and I watch as Booth extends his hand to my wife, politely inviting her to accept it and they begin to dance. I notice immediately that he holds Julia at a respectful distance, one hand lightly on her waist and his other held out to the side, at Julia's shoulder height. They finally turn away, my wife looking up at the much taller man with a charmed smile, and I refocus my attention on my patiently waiting dance partner. Dr. Brennan looks at me with clear, questioning eyes. "My apologies, Dr. Brennan," I nod at her slightly. "Shall we?"

She simply accepts my hand and follows my lead, though she is much more awkward than I expected. Having seen the ease with which Booth led her around the room, I am surprised at the stiff posture of the young woman in my arms. "Are you having a nice time, Dr. Brennan?"

She thinks carefully before answering, chewing the inside of her cheek as she looks around the decorated ballroom. "It has been a fine evening. The dinner was satisfactory and the band music is pleasant."

"That doesn't sounds as though you've had an abundantly good time," I smile patiently at the scientist, understanding that sometimes she has difficulty expressing her feelings. "Is everything alright?"

Brennan tightens her lips, and sighs heavily through her nose before turning her eyes up to meet mine. I am struck by the thinly veiled confusion I see there. I've always known that Dr. Brennan hates admitting when she didn't understand something, and it was very well understood within the department that she primarily turns to Booth for explanations. But here she is, dancing with me while her partner dances with my wife, and she is looking at me like I'll be able to answer all her questions…

"Booth and I had an argument earlier." She glances worriedly over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the man in question. She wrinkles her nose, which is adorable, if I am to be completely honest, and she mumbles quietly, though loud enough for me to hear. "And _now _he's just confusing me…"

"I'm sorry to hear that, Dr. Brennan. Is there anything I can help with?"

Her gaze follows Booth as he dips Julia playfully, both of them laughing at something she's said. With a gentle smile raising one side of her lips, the anthropologist looks back to me. "Booth has been very much opposed to me dancing with anyone else tonight… I have had several offers and everytime I've been asked, he seems to appear out of nowhere and drags me out here to the dancefloor, dismissing the men who've asked me. And yet, he didn't mind me sharing a dance with you, Director." Her eyebrows become dissected by a little 'V' that I have often seen when she's trying to work something out. Before I can interrupt with a theory, she continues. "And _then_, one of the largest contributors of the Jeffersonian approached me this evening," her eyes drift once more over to Booth before refocusing on me. "Booth overheard Keith asking if I would join him at his beach house next weekend. He is hosting a wine auction and thought I would be interested."

I raise my eyebrows in my own suspicion. "So he wanted you to spend the _whole weekend_? Just for a one-evening affair?"

"I'm sure he was just being hospitable. It's up in New Jersey and he probably didn't want me to worry about travelling late at night. Although, if I wanted to, I could afford a driver..." Her eyes once again follow her partner as he dances with my Jules. "Booth doesn't seem to think that's the case..." She is chewing on her lower lip as her gaze moves to her left, my right, where my wife and my top agent are readied to bump into us jokingly. After they've moved a bit further away, Dr. Brennan's radiant smile fades once more and she turns back to face me. "Booth told Keith his invitation was unprofessional and that I wouldn't be able to make it next week. He said I have plans, though I have none… And he went on to say, and I quote, '_Bones'll go to your place for the weekend over my cold, dead body_'." She imitates Booth's intonation perfectly, I can't help but laugh.

I feel a little bad for bursting out in laughter when I see the indecisive struggle behind her carefully constructed mask; her independence is battling against the complete and utter trust she instills upon her partner. "Well, Dr. Brennan, don't be too hard on Booth. He's the best judge of character I've ever had the pleasure of working with." I shrug my right shoulder slightly. "Besides, it sounds to me like he's just trying to protect you."

"I don't need-"

"Dr. Brennan," I cut her off, knowing our dance is coming to an end soon. "Booth is a protector, a warrior of sorts. He is constantly on alert for any danger that may hurt the people he loves." Her brows crease in disagreement with my statement, but I keep talking, unwilling to allow an interruption. "I don't think he would steer you wrong, Temperance." Yes, I am using her first name on purpose, to gain her attention and for her to know I am speaking to her as a friend, not as her partner's boss. "You trust him in so many other aspects of your life, of your partnership...My suggestion would be to trust him now, as well. Maybe he sees something in the guy, maybe he has one of his mysterious gut feelings, it's hard to say… But as sure as I'm standing here, he wouldn't have interfered if he didn't feel it was warranted."

Dr. Brennan's eyes are pulled back to mine as our dance slows and she drops her hand from mine. I can tell she is pondering my words, rolling them around in that genius brain of hers as her pale blues look at me unwaveringly. I meet her gaze with openness.

"But he didn't stop me from dancing with you…" Her voice is soft and slightly wary.

"He knows I'm not a threat to you… _or to him_, for that matter." I am treading on thin ice here, but I want her to trust Booth. I've known for a long time how Seeley Booth feels about his partner and it seems that the good agent has finally started to grow a pair, and is slowly and carefully claiming what he sees as his.

"Of course you're not a threat, Sam, I know you would never inflict pain on either one of us. But…" Her words fade and an eyebrow arches.

"What are you concerned about, Dr. Brennan?" I don't expect a quality answer of any sort by this time, so I am not surprised by her response.

"Thank you for the dance, Director. And I appreciate your candor." She watches as her partner escorts my wife back over to my side. Before they reach us, she makes one final statement. "I will discuss any further concerns with Booth."

I bow my head in an old fashioned greeting. "It's been my pleasure, Dr. Brennan." I exchange handshakes with Booth as we reclaim our appropriate dance partners. Julia and I smirk when Booth immediately takes Brennan's hand and folds her against him to continue into the next song. We watch knowingly as the woman who was awkward at best when dancing with me, molded her body against the tall length of her special agent and the two seemingly became one.

Julia looks up at me with an impish smile. "He's a good dancer, but not as good as you…" She giggles, knowing that by the looks of the two of them dancing, anyone could tell that Booth is a superb lead. "I may have hinted to Agent Booth that he should share his feelings with Dr. Brennan. He tried _again _to deny it, to say they were 'just good friends', but he could barely keep his eyes on me while we were dancing." She giggles again and snuggles into my shoulder. "He was too busy watching where you were guiding his _just-a-partner._"

I chuckle at my wife and pull her closer. "Yeah, Dr. Brennan was very preoccupied watching Booth dip and spin you around the dancefloor. But in between her distractions, I managed to encourage her to follow Booth's lead when it came to a certain Lab-Benefactor who wanted to spend the weekend with her." I can tell my eyes are dancing in unison with the laughter threatening to erupt from my wife's throat. "Seems he was quite upset at an invitation she received earlier this evening, for what sounds like a weekend-long booty call."

"Ahh," Jules nods. "I wondered why he shot such a disapproving glare at the man we saw speaking with Dr. Brennan earlier. That man over there," she nodded her head to the first row of tables. "When he saw you dancing with Temperance, he started to move across the floor on a direct path to cut in. We _just happened_to've intercepted the man's approach…"

A throaty laugh fills the air from nearby and we spin around. Just at the edge of the dancefloor, Booth is dipping Brennan in time with the growing crescendo of the music. The anthropologist's face is flushed with enjoyment as she grips her partner's thick neck, and his smile is wide, the picture of adoration as he looks down at her. When he pulls her back upright, their noses are mere centimeters apart and they pause their movements. We aren't the only people watching while trying to appear nonchalant in our observations, but Booth and Brennan remain ignorant to their audience. Booth leans in and speaks against Brennan's ear, apparently asking a question to which she nods her assent, and suddenly the pair is leaving the floor, making their way towards the exit, Brennan's arm hooked around Booth's bicep firmly as she practically trots to keep up with his long gait.

My Jules looks up at me, smiling satisfactorily once they've made their swift departure. "Looks like you might have some paperwork to approve on Monday, Sammy," she teases.

I lean down to kiss her gently. "Well," I mutter against her soft lips, "we can hope, now, can't we?" I lead her back to our seats, silently praying that Dr. Brennan allows Booth to tame the wild jaguar for good. They are good people, and they deserve the happiness that they can only gain from each other.

**Postscript A/N**

******So, I know that one was a little different, too. First-person, present-tense, Sam Cullen. It was quite difficult for me, because I am not comfortable with a present-tense narration… My instinct was to revert to third-person observations in the past-tense, and I can't tell you how many re-reads I did to try to catch my errors.… Not sure if this was successful, I'll wait to hear from you all before making a determination. As usual, I had no Beta, so I own the mistakes. **

******Peace & Love, my friends, **

******~jazzy **


	3. Confused

**A/N Hi again! **

**So, just to clarify, this collection of OneShots may or may not be related to one another (I will let you know if I post one that is related to another), but most importantly, they are definitely ****not ****in chronological order. I just wanted to make sure there was no further confusion about that. These are just little thoughts that either pop into my head at random or chapters built around tiny snippets that I find in my FanFic folder, long ago forgotten or abandoned. My Muse is still giving me a relatively hard time, so I hope you like this. **

**Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own Bones or anything related to the characters. The only things that are mine are these random ideas that invade my imagination, taking on a life of their own and begging to be written. **

Confused

My partner confuses me.

Baffles me.

On a regular basis.

I have come to the conclusion that he does it on purpose and inwardly prides himself on his ability to 'mess with my mind,' as Angela puts it.

He has been sending me mixed messages for years, which, in the vernacular, drives me crazy. There is no doubt, and we have never denied the fact, that we find each other physically attractive. Hell, we almost slept together when our first case resulted in my termination. But when Booth and I found ourselves partnered once again, and _more importantly,_ after Cam's near-fatal encounter during one of our cases, he made it perfectly clear that we can never be more than partners and friends. He didn't say the exact words, but I understood his inference; I understand some things better than most people give me credit for. Booth's message was crystal clear, even to me. We can never cross that delicate line of partnership and friendship by entering into a more personal relationship. We can be close friends, _best _friends even, but _never _lovers.

It's a shame, really. I believe we would be highly compatible in bed. We both have excellent stamina, we are equally athletic, though our strengths exist in different areas, on varying planes. We complement each other in every aspect of our professional lives, so there is no reason to suspect otherwise if we'd carried those same attributes over to an intimate relationship.

Despite the reality that we will never be together in that way, courtesy of the invisible line that Booth drew between us, he continues to emit various degrees of possessiveness of our existing relationship; possessiveness _of me_. If it were any other man displaying such traits, I would have put him in his metaphorical place long ago. For some unexplainable reason, however, I don't mind Booth's actions. Secretly, I enjoy his attentions, though I would never openly admit that to anyone, _especially _to him… An admission like that would be detrimental to our current relationship because he would be impossible to live with at that point, believing that he won something over me, like a battle of our wills, and I simply can't concede to his victory in that realm. Instead, I've decided to continue enjoying what we have, and eventually, maybe things will change between us. After all, one never knows what the future holds for my contract with the FBI as their Forensic Anthropology consultant.

Disregarding my internal, self-proclaimed acceptance of his alpha-male tendencies, the man absolutely infuriates me sometimes. His demanding demeanor and insistence on always getting his own way is exasperating. He basically told me, sitting on the bench that day at the park as we watched his son grow comfortable once again with the merry-go-round, that colleagues with highly dangerous positions should never intermingle personal with professional lives. Yet, we spend almost every evening together, and that is mostly his own doing.

It makes sense that when we are working on a case, we share meals and late night conversations. We talk about our findings at the lab, new developments based on his research and his indigestion problems, which he fancies are 'gut feelings' that talk to him and tell him things like who is telling the truth or who is weaving fantastic tales of falsehoods. During these times, _when working a case_, we will often lunch together and, if we are not already together by evening, we will meet for late dinners to discuss new evidence. All of this makes perfect sense to me. There is a logical and comfortable routine into which we fall, and it is a balance that I quite enjoy.

The confusion sets into the metaphorical picture when we are not working on an unsolved case. Take tonight's events for example.

I enjoy working in Bone Storage. It is a place of solace to me; a quiet space of concentration and absolutes. But my partner, the man who replaced Angela as my 'Best Friend' somewhere along the journey of our seven-year partnership, seems to think that I am a damsel in distress while working in that laboratory that he termed, '_Limbo_.'

I don't like to call Bone Storage by Booth's nickname. To me, _Limbo _seems disrespectful to those whose remains lie in boxes, long ago misplaced or lost and still unidentified. However, like much of what Booth does, his nickname for my sanctuary stuck, so to speak, and soon my team, _yes, __my_ _team,_ started referring to it as _Limbo _as well, despite my near-constant contradictions and corrections in the early days of the moniker.

At any rate, I digress. Booth seems to think I am in need of rescuing from my quiet place of work, and he disrupts my peace on a regular basis.

When the rest of the lab is silent, after everyone except security has gone home for the evening, I like to immerse myself in long-forgotten remains. It is my favorite time of day, during which I can perform the job that I love and complete the tasks for which I was actually hired by the Jeffersonian to do. But almost like clockwork on Mondays through Thursdays, and occasionally a little later on Fridays, I hear a familiar sound rolling down the staircase leading to my workspace from the main part of the lab. His unmistakable baritone voice bellows through the empty corridors and open spaces of the lab-proper, echoing against the stainless steel and glass that defines the lab for what it is: a working environment utilized for various forms of research, crime solving and identifying unknowns.

"Bones! Where are ya, Bones?!" _Like he doesn't know...yeah right, Booth… _ "Chop, chop!" He claps his hands loudly, filling the peace and quiet with a whirlwind of Boothy-chaos. "C'mon, it's time for dinner! I'm **starving**!" By the time he claims to be near death from lack of sustenance, he has typically reached the top of the stairwell, having already peaked in the general direction of my office and found it empty and darkened. "You down there, Bones? You playing with your bones again?" He chuckles at his own joke as his descends the steps, taking two or three at a time, against my countless warnings that one of these days he will slip and fall, further damaging his already-injured back. I stopped voicing my concerns long ago, however, since my advice was lost on him. Instead of heeding to my sound warnings, he just grins and gains my agreement to participate in providing him with a Thai massage in the event that he hurts himself. Why I ever agree to help him when he should simply avoid dangerous situations, I'll never know… But I would never deny him an adjustment if I think it will help.

"I'm working, Booth." If I don't put up an argument about his interruption, he would think something is wrong. "I cannot join you for dinner tonight. These remains need to be worked." Tonight, I didn't raise my eyes at his uninvited appearance.

"Aw, c'mon, Bones," his whine, by this time, is usually right beside me, as he's stalked across the cavernous room; tonight was no different. "They've been waiting, what, two-hundred years? One more evening won't kill 'em." He grinned, once again chuckling at his own humor and I simply shook my head, breathing slowly.

As usual, when I refuse to acknowledge his logic, however faulty it might be, he fills the silence once again. (_It's funny now that I think about this - when he wants a suspect to talk, he often lets the thick silence in the interrogation room force the confession. He told me once that people hate silence… And when I remain quiet, he will often do the same thing as his suspects…_)

"Come eat with me, Bones. I can't eat my fries all by myself," he leaned sideways, trying to gain my visual attention.

I know he's lying when he says things like this, because he is like a bottomless pit when it comes to eating. He could finish his own fries plus those of all the neighboring tables if he was given the opportunity.

"Booth," I admonished, still studying the bone in my hand.

"OK, OK." He stepped closer, invading my personal space by this point. "How about Wong Foo's? Sid always knows what we want to eat." He always tries to coerce me by changing eating venues until I give in.

"Not hungry, Booth," my voice is like a sing-song, teasing him in retaliation for his interruption. I typically use this type of deflection, though I know that in the end, it will not work and I will end up leaving the lab to have a meal with my partner.

"You always say that, Bones, but you _always _eat." He closed in even more, bumping my shoulder with his. "Besides, if you don't eat on a healthy basis, you're gonna end up like these poor folks..." He waved his hand in the direction of the wall of bleached bones.

When I finally raised my eyes to meet his, I was, like always, amazed to find his intense brown irises silently begging me. I crumbled immediately, unable to deny his unspoken plea. "If I take a break to eat dinner, you will need to bring me back so I can finish my research tonight." I knew what his response will be before he opened his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah. OK. I'll bring you back." He will usually pause, just like he did tonight, to rethink his strategy. That is when I typically begin my mental countdown.

Five...Four...Three...Two…

"But why don't you go ahead and secure everything? Y'know, just in case we don't make it back tonight. You never know how busy Sid's will be… It _is _Friday, after all."

I won't be going back to the lab tonight, that much was obvious when we stood there in the cool room, so I began to finalize the notes that I'd gathered thus far. I eyed him sideways with a knowing glare. "Go wait in my office, Booth. I'll be up shortly." But he didn't go. _(And he says __**I **__have trouble following directions) _ He waited down there with me like always, keeping me on task and ensuring that i didn't become distracted with new observations while making him wait.

Instead, while I finished working, he paces around the room, muttering about souls and spirits, reading labels aloud and tapping the boxes gently with bent knuckles. He will often begin talking to the bones, telling them to hang in there just a little longer. He makes promises to dead matter that his 'partner will help soon,' but that he needs to kidnap me in order to make sure I consume nutrition.

So, as I packed away my work, Booth carried on conversations w unanimated bones and artifacts still waiting to be examined. He promised things like they will soon be placed to rest because I will identify them or because one of the junior geniuses that I'm training will uncover their stories and notify their families (if any still exist). Sometimes my partner's blind faith in my abilities astonishes me, and I often find myself purposefully delaying my wrap-up procedures so I can hear what he has to say. Sweets would probably accuse me of vanity if he knew I enjoyed hearing these things, but when Booth shows such confidence and pride when referring to the dedicated attention my interns and I pay to the remains, I simply can't help but slow my actions and listen to his ramblings. Sometimes I remind him that his audience consists of deceased members who cannot hear him, but he counters my reason with spirituality and insists that his promises are heard and he continues to chat while I complete my tasks.

Booth seems to know my routine and recognizes when I'm done working, and he will often call me out when I'm simply wasting time. Sometimes I defend my delayed reactions by telling him that I'm letting him finish his 'conversations.' He often reminds me, like he did tonight, that he'll be back in a day or two, and he can continue at that time.

He often pulls at my labcoat, tugging it from my shoulders as he follows close behind me, enroute back to my office. Tonight when he started, I argued that I could disrobe myself. Sometimes I will purposefully make comments, that some may deem as inappropriate,

regarding varying degrees of undress. But I do this for the sole purpose of seeing my normally cocksure partner falter and blush. But tonight, I made an exception and opted not to embarrass him. I don't really know why, but recently, things have felt different with Booth...not _bad_-different, but definitely different.

Lately, Booth has seemed more eager, more insistent on spending time together. A typical weekly pattern, when not dealing with a case, would consist of Booth invading Limbo two or three evenings to drag me off to dinner, despite my objections each time. The other nights he might simply text me, asking what I'm doing or what my plans for the evening are. When I don't receive a text from him prior to 8:00pm, I know to expect a phone call soon thereafter with an invitation to meet at Founding Fathers for a drink or two. The weekends have been hit or miss, depending on his schedule with Parker, but he still often invites me to join them for an afternoon, or at the very least, ice cream near the playground prior to him taking Parks back to Rebecca's house.

Tonight, he seems particularly edgy, like something is on his mind but he is unsure of how to approach the subject or perhaps reluctant to bring it up. After we finished dinner at Sid's, he asked me if i would join him here, at the bar for a few drinks, prolonging our evening.

"It's Friday," he reminded me with a smile. "You don't _need _to get up early tomorrow, and since you packed up your bones before we left the lab, well…" He shrugged, letting the sentence die away.

I didn't have the nerve to say 'no' to him tonight. Something is 'off' with my partner, and that has me concerned. Briefly, I wondered if he was angry with me, and I tried to think back over the week to determine if I had some something that may be been misconstrued or misunderstood. It is no big secret that I often aggravate people unintentionally by insulting them or making statements that are otherwise offensive. But usually, Booth will just come right out and tell me when I've pissed him off or done something wrong, helping me to then set everything right, and then we just settle back into our normal banter and companionship.

As I reviewed my actions from the week, however, I can think of nothing I've done to anger Booth, and I decide that when he returns to the table with our drinks, I'm going to come straight out and ask him what's wrong. I will feel better once we just talk. Not that we haven't been conversing; quite the contrary, actually. Our conversations over the course of the evening have been pleasant and open, covering topics from religion to crime, family to abandonment, and countless other subjects.

I muse at the ease with which I can discuss the pain of my past with Booth and the reassuring mannerisms he displays to let me know I'm no longer alone. He reminds me that I have renewed, _relatively healthy_, relationships with my father and brother, and as he always does, Booth reassures me that I will never again be alone, even if Max and Russ aren't there, that he will always be here for me.

On the metaphorical flip-side, I am constantly surprised when he doubts his own skills as a father. Something that very few people know about my partner is that he occasionally needs reassurance about his excellent parenting capabilities. He worries that he will turn into his father, (_a man that if ever given the opportunity to meet, I'd like to put into practice, my years of martial arts training, passing along my extreme displeasure with __**his **__incapability to've been a decent father to my partner_). But Seeley Booth, my best friend, is so far from becoming like Joseph Booth that it pains me that these worries even enter his mind. I have such high regards for Booth's fathering skills that I often fantasize about what it would have been like if I had followed through with my plans to mother a child that had been fathered by Booth.

I knew that when we talked about my desires to have a child, and Booth agreed to provide the necessary (and apparently very fertile) sperm, that he had promised to step aside, letting me raise the child as I saw fit. But I never seriously entertained the idea of keeping Booth from having a relationship with his progeny. In fact, looking back now at the whole plan, I think it may have been a way for me, on some deep-rooted anthropological level, to lay my own claim on Booth. Just as he is possessive of me on a social level, I believe I have become just as protective of my relationship with him, though I adamantly deny it whenever Angela tries to point out this notion when she observes my actions and comments.

Sometimes, on evenings like this, when it's just the two of us having dinner and drinks, I secretly think of it as a date. We often take turns paying for the meal and drinks, and although I know that society dictates that the male in a relationship should pay for a 'date,' I know that Booth's funds are limited a great deal more than mine. I never flaunt this, because I would never want to emasculate him with talk of my higher wages and book advances. Finances are a sensitive subject for him, though I don't pretend to understand exactly why. So, when he offered to go procure our drinks while I secured a table, I didn't argue, though he had paid for dinner already.

George, our favorite Founding Fathers bartender, is busy filling a large drink order for a bachelor party that is taking place in the adjoining back room. Knowing Booth will be a few additional minutes waiting to place our order, I use this time to check my emails on my phone, since I didn't have a chance to check before Booth hustled me out of the lab earlier. As I wait for my emails to load, viewing each one as they pop up on the little screen, I feel compelled to raise my eyes to where I last spotted my partner standing by the bar. Initially, I resist the urge, but I finally give in and relocate my gaze to what I expect to be the back of his broad shoulders as he is waiting his turn. My heart flutters unexpectedly when, instead of the back of his head, I see his dark brown eyes watching me from across the crowded room.

We exchange a smile: his, crooked and Boothy; mine, I think, tentative and unsure. It is at that moment when I realize there is a woman standing beside my partner, facing him and obviously trying to initiate a conversation. Although there are no indications that he even knows the woman exists as he meets my gaze, I feel a flash of something, jealousy maybe (?), darken my vision, weighing heavily on my shoulders in an instant. As if he can read my mind, he shifts, moving his weight to one leg, angling away from the pushy woman. His smile grows exponentially as I feel myself relax ever so slightly, and the bleach-blond woman must get the hint that he in not interested, and turns her attention to the man standing on her other side.

I find myself wondering why I felt the shadow of jealousy wash over me so completely. Booth isn't mine, no matter how many scenarios my imagination conjures up. He is not my mate...He is my partner, my best friend, but he will _never _be my mate.. Never mine. Almost instantly, my brain switches observational modes and I try to determine why he was ignoring the woman in the first place.

If I am to be completely honest, the stranger was very attractive. She was a small-framed woman, trim and fit with curves that were accented graciously by the black and gold dress she wore. Her dark blond, wavy hair was long and thick, obviously dyed, but still pretty. Her face was symmetrically pleasing as far as I could tell, and she seemed to fit the description of what Angela once referred to as 'Booth's kind of woman.'

But he had ignored the stranger. Instead, he maintained his focus solely on me. _Why?_ This is another one of those confusing moments when I feel as though I'm receiving unspoken signals, mixed messages on a primal basis, but it must mean something different because Booth and I will never be more than partners. He won't allow it.

When George finally gets around to Booth's station at the bar, my partner and I are forced to break eye contact. I have long forgotten about the new emails waiting to be read as I hold my phone mid-air. I can't explain my increased heart rate, nor is there any logical reason for the overwhelming heat that I feel taking over my body. It is no warmer inside the back dining area of Founding Fathers than when I first entered, though if I were a betting person, I'd go all-in on a ten-degree increase in temperature at the very least.

I'm studying the back of Booth's head, his spiky hair in need of a trim, the breadth of his wide shoulders and the proud line of his back as he speaks to George and the two share a laugh over something said. I know I am staring, gawking even, but I can't seem to tear my gaze away from his form-fitted dark t-shirt and loose fitting jeans. I have to take a deeper breath as my eyes travel down the length of his long legs, because I know what is hidden beneath his pants. Besides the various times I've seen Booth's body in a variety of dress (or _undress_ as one case forced my hand to remove his clothing piece by piece - _oh whoa is me_…), my partner has used the pool in my apartment building on several occasions, and I have happily joined him for many of his visits.

I've admired his naturally tanned skin, well-toned chest and back, his strong thighs and yes, the vision of of his perfectly-proportioned glutes has been fuel for eventual self-gratification on more sleepless nights than I can count. When Parker accompanies him to my pool, sometimes we all play games and, whenever possible, I use my false 'misunderstanding of the rules' (_complete with innocent eyes begging forgiveness_) to tackle Booth every chance I get, grabbing his shoulders or grazing my open palms across his smooth chest. We don't play games when it's just the two of us swimming, we generally just talk and float around… Maybe I should suggest that he help me better understand the various rules of the different games when we're alone. I can use that time as an excuse to want to improve my sports knowledge to surprise Parker on his next visit… Booth will most likely agree to my proposal if that's the case.

I am startled when he turns abruptly to face me, a glass in each hand and his smile falters, falling from his handsome face instantly. I am afraid that he caught me staring and I've upset him or made him uncomfortable. My eyes drop to the now-darkened cell phone screen and I pocket the device quickly, trying to distract myself from my foolish daydreams. That is when I notice a man leaning against the chair to my left, eyeing me expectantly.

Wrinkling my forehead, I look at the man, immediately determining that he is no comparison to Booth in attractiveness, and I wonder aloud why he is leaning over my table. "Can I help you?" I ask marily, uncertain of how long he has been here, unnoticed.

The man laughs, rolling his head back before looking back down at me. "Maybe you've had one-too-many already, sweetheart," he chuckled again, though I don't know what is so funny. "You didn't even hear me, did you?"

I can feel Booth's rapid approach, the cadence of his steps obvious to me, even over the heavy beat of the music blaring from the juke box. "Did you say something?" I ask the stranger, still not understanding why he is standing next to me.

"Yeah," he nods and looks at me patronizingly, immediately putting my on guard. "I asked if you would like to dance, baby. And maybe join us for some drinks after?" He smiles and points over his shoulder at the large gathering of men in the back of the room.

I flash the man an incredulous look, noting that his smile is too wide for his face, and not at all charming like Booth's smile, and his top teeth are crooked, again, not pleasing like my partner's. Before I can refuse the man, however, Booth's voice cuts into the conversation angrily.

"Beat it, pal," his aggressive tone interjects without apology. "And don't call her '_baby_.' Show some friggin' respect, huh?" He places my drink directly in front of my seat and his directly to my right. He remains standing, however, his shoulders squared and his eyes dark and menacing.

"OK, OK... Sorry, man." The party-goer's hands are raised in defense. "I just saw a pretty lady sitting alone and thought she might like some company, that's all. I didn't mean to hit on your girl."

"I'm not his girl," my answer is automatic, spewed forth without conscious thought after years of rote repetition. "I'm his partner. We work together." I feel Booth's glare turn in my direction now, and I meet his eyes, slightly startled by the disapproval I see shining back at me.

"Oh," the unattractive smile returns. "Then maybe you _would _like to dance?" He is looking at me again, no longer threatened by Booth's presence or postured warning.

"No she wouldn't," Booth answers for me, not even giving me the opportunity to speak for myself. "If she wants to dance tonight, she'll be dancing with me." He reaches for my hand and I take it without question, feeling once again confused about what is happening around me. Booth pulls me to my feet and narrows his eyes at my would-be suitor, and as if he needs further punctuation to his statement, he specifies. "And tell your buddies over there that she is with _me_. All night." The angry glare has turned threatening and before I know it, his arm is around my waist, pulling me into his side.

I don't argue. I don't know why, but I simply allow Booth to lay claim on me without discussion or debate. It feels so natural to be leaning against his strong body, that without my conscious consent, my arm has found its way under his arm and loops up until my hand is draped across his shoulder. Perhaps 'draped' is the wrong term. I grip his thick shoulder firmly, pressing my fingers into his muscle just like I had done when we were in Vegas - when he was Tony to my Roxie.

When the opposing stranger has finally resigned himself to the beat-down that he's just been delivered, he nods at me and then looks at Booth with a smirk. "You're a lucky guy."

"Yeah, I know." Booth's answer is short, though I'm having difficulty following the conversation or the exact meaning behind the lucky-comment. I just took a deep breath as I leaned into Booth's secure embrace and my lungs were filled with the scent of his cologne, the remnants of his aftershave and the overall scent that is just-Booth. My head is swimming; I feel drunk, though I haven't touched my drink, and lightheaded though I know I'm perfectly healthy.

Once the guy is out of earshot, rejoining his bachelor-party friends, Booth turns to face me, his arm still circling my waist. Feeling breathless and unsure about the interaction that has just taken place, I wait until Booth breaks the silence hanging between us. He suddenly looks sheepish, yet his eyes flicker with something else I can't quite name, but recognize on some ancient, anthropological level.

"Sorry, Bones," he sighs and shifts a little, but maintains his hold on my waist, his hand now resting at the gentle curve above the small of my back as I face him fully. "I shouldn't have spoken for you… Maybe you _wanted _to dance with the guy…" His eyes are almost black, his jaw ticking with anxiety.

Suddenly feeling mute, unable to utter a word, I simply shake my head to the negative.

His eyes move across my face, pausing on my mouth, my cheeks, my ears and finally on my questioning blues. He seems to have come to a decision about what he wants to say.

"I hate when guys hit on you. Especially when they call you names like 'baby' and 'sweetheart'. Who the hell do they think they are to impose a name on you? And to assume you'd be OK with it…" His voice fluctuates between angry and possessive, his hand twitches and finally I feel his fingers span wide, covering more of my back.

"You imposed a nickname on me, Booth." My reaction is instantaneous, automated.

"That's different. I respect you. Always have, ever since that first day." His blackened gaze changes, transforming back to the rich brown that I see in my dreams at night. He seems to grow cautious, his words delivered slowly with careful precision. "He had no business addressing you like that. It was a cheap pick-up line. I never called you 'Bones' in that way. You deserve better than cheap lines..."

Wanting to put him at ease, I smile. "I like my nickname that you gave me." His smile mirrors mine until I speak again. "Who was that woman you were talking to?"

"I wasn't talking. She was." He is completely serious, meeting my intensity with conviction and honesty.

"What did she want?" I know _exactly _what the blond wanted; I saw the way she was eyeing his body, the way she smiled and tossed her hair when she tried to engage him in conversation. _(I have seen similar displays of sexual availability and interest many times when clubbing with Angela - often times exhibited by Angela, herself)._ And even though I know what the woman wanted with my partner, I want to hear it from him.

"For me to buy her a drink," he shrugs one shoulder. "And probably a whole lot more."

Swallowing thickly, I bite my lower lip and reply. "She was very pretty…"

"Was she?"

"You didn't notice?"

His answer is quiet; so softly-spoken that that I almost don't hear it. Somehow, though, his deep voice cuts through the drone of bar noise and music, filling my ear as he leans closer. "I wasn't looking at her, Bones. I was looking at _you_."

"Why?" I breath my question. My heart rate has increased and my throat is dry as I reflexively tighten my fist around the handful of shirt I still grasp, now at his shoulder blade since we are facing each other.

"Because, Bones, you are beautiful. And I can't seem to take my eyes off you, even if I try." I feel the heat of his free hand slide into place, palming my hip tenderly.

I think I've suddenly forgotten to breathe, unwilling to let this moment slip away unacknowledged, but uncertain of exactly what to do. I search his face, his chiseled features and his piercing gaze mesmerize me, nearly hypnotize me. As if being pulled by an invisible force, I lean further into him, bringing my left hand up to rest against his t-shirt covered pec. Unable to stop my next confession, I let the words flow without filter.

"I didn't like watching that other woman flirting with you, Booth. I disliked the way she was looking at you…" My mouth is nearly touching the masculine skin below his ear as I speak, and I can hear the huskiness in my voice, recognize it for what it is - pure, raw desire on aural display for my partner.

Nuzzling his nose into the loose hair on the side of my head, Booth groans a tiny chuckle. "Now you know how I feel almost every time we go out, Bones. Tonight was one of the worst, though, when that _yahoo _over there had the balls enough to approach you with the intention of coercing you to join him and his little pals at their boring-ass stag party."

He inhales, probably able to smell the faint remaining scent of my shampoo. A chill runs through my body as I feel his breath against my ear. I can't stifle the tiny mew that escapes my throat when I shiver. My entire being is reacting to the close proximity of his much larger, physiologically pleasing stature and I can feel his body-heat aggressively penetrating my own. My breathing pattern shallows.

"Hey Bones?" His gravelly voice invades my mind, causing my rapidly deteriorating vision to completely blur as as the movie projector in my imagination plays out one of the many repeat fantasies involving Alpha-Booth beating off an offending competitor vying for my affections.

"Hmm?" I don't trust my voice; I doubt my abilities to construct a coherent sentence if I chance to open my mouth. I rub my cheek lightly against his, savoring the rough texture of his afternoon stubble against my smooth face. I am blissfully unaware of the way the never-ending noise of our surroundings seems to have mellowed to a muted background-buzz as the sound of my own heartbeat fills my senses.

Pulling back only slightly, Booth's mouth drifts lower on my cheek as he bows his head. "I'm gonna kiss you now." The hand on my lower back pulls me firmly against his hard body and the open palm on my hip tightens its grip, crumpling my untucked shirttail trapped beneath his wide span.

All I can do was nod my permission as his heated eyes pull back and silently measure my reaction. I think a sigh of anticipation has escaped my throat, but I can't be absolutely certain. Somewhere in my subconscious, I fear that I may be trapped in a dream, close to being rudely awakened by the shrill sound of my alarm as is so often the case with these visions.

If I'm not mistaken, my eyes catch the beginnings of a cocky little smirk curling the edge of Booth's lips just before they crash against mine, but I don't mind; that tiny smile has haunted so many of my nights that I welcome it wholly. Somewhere in the back of my mind, as I open my mouth beneath his, welcoming the silky warmth of his tongue against mine, I feel confident that the fog surrounding the confusing signals that I've been receiving for years is about to become unequivocally cleared. This is no dream, this is finally happening. I palm the nape of his neck holding him tight as he presses his whole body against mine. We don't even hear the wolf whistles that fill the room as acquaintances and strangers alike watch our new reality unfolding before their eyes.

**Postscript A/N**

**I hand-wrote this on a four-hour flight home from a mini-vacation and typed it up tonight after I finished working. Again, I'm not completely comfortable with first-person POV, but I keep trying to improve my ability to write it. I toyed with this piece a little more than others, because I moved the tense from present tense narration in the beginning, to past tense as Brennan thought about Booth's invasion of her lab earlier in the evening and then back to present tense once her mind is focused on the events unfolding in the bar. Did I succeed in this endeavor? **

**I own all my errors; as usual, I edit myself, so my apologies for inconsistencies. **

**I look forward to your thoughts. **

**peace & love, **

**~jazzy**


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